


The Peacemaker's Tattoo

by intergalxtic



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, College, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Somewhat friends, they are just bi disasters i tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalxtic/pseuds/intergalxtic
Summary: Only fifty percent of people have soulmates, and they only way of contacting them is by writing on your skin.The only problem is: Zazzalil is curious to know if she has a soulmate, and Jemilla hates having ink on her skin.
Relationships: Jemilla & Molag (Firebringer), Jemilla/Zazzalil (Firebringer), Keeri & Zazzalil (Firebringer)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	The Peacemaker's Tattoo

When Zazzalil was ten, she learnt about soulmates. She had heard rumours, whispers only until that point. On the day of her birthday her father sat her down in their dining room, with a purple pen, and rolled up her sleeve. Her dad had never been the most eloquent, yet what came from his mouth was something so inexplicably beautiful. He told her how only fifty-percent of people have soulmates, and people who have them had described it as nothing less than an amazing feeling. 

The only way to contact your soulmate without meeting them, is through writing on your skin. Anything your soulmate has written or drawn shows up. That day, Zazzalil got to try. He dad handed her the pen, an assuring smile on his face. She grinned back, removing the lid. _What should I say?_

She writes a small “Hi” on her forearm with hope in her heart, setting the pen down afterwards. She bounces in her seat waiting for her dad to give the next instruction. He only told her to roll her sleeve back down, and wait. 

About one hour later, she checked back to see if anything had changed. She anxiously yanks up her sleeve, only to see the writing disappeared. Oh. Who knew the ink could fade so fast? She shrugs it off, making a mental note to try again later. 

* * *

Jemilla didn’t know a lot about soulmates. No-one ever told her, so she thought it was too insignificant to ask about. Her adopted Mother, Molag, didn't have a soulmate. She assumed she wouldn’t either. But, there are two of them.

One day she was playing outside with some friends, when she spied something on her arm. A small “Hi”. She frowns in confusion. She doesn’t remember putting that there, and she wouldn’t have. She hates having anything on her skin. Running into the bathroom, she turns on the tap and immediately starts scrubbing. 

Frustrated, she goes up to Molag, taking a shaky breath. “Can you teach me about soulmates?”

* * *

Zazzalil of course, ever so curious, kept trying. She wrote on her hand everyday. Little drawings, questions, greetings. Anything that might spark a conversation. But everything she writes disappears. 

Many of her friends have started talking to their soulmates, some had figured out that they don’t have one. Her friend Emberly knows she has a soulmate. Often people don’t work it out until they are much older, and always wait to meet. It’s common etiquette, however there are always exceptions. 

Her Dads were those exceptions. They met back in highschool, and have been together for twenty years! She wanted her soulmate to have something like that. Something so loving, supportive, something she couldn’t ever picture leaving. She felt safe around them. 

Yes, she wanted what they had. That dream was drifting further away.

* * *

Even at a young age, Jemilla was a “neat freak” (as Molag liked to say). Since she had learned about soulmates, she had hidden any signs that she had one. The ink her soulmate uses was easy to wash fortunately, otherwise she didn’t know what she’d do. She couldn’t count the number of times she had been asked about them. She never gives a straight answer.

One day Molag took her to get ice cream after school. Jemilla had chosen triple chocolate, and while she was busy licking away, Molag noticed the scribbles on her wrist. She also made the mistake of bringing it up. Jemilla’s eyes went wide, her bottom lip quivered. Molag visibly softened.

“I was going to wait until you asked, but I think it’s finally time you learnt about your birth mother.” She held onto Jemillas free hand, a solemn smile on her face. She wondered what this had to do with soulmates.

Jemilla pouts as her life before she could remember was revealed. Her parents were soulmates, who didn’t work. Her dad left, then her mum cracked, and Jemilla was taken away. This hurts her more than she seems to realise. Her ice cream melted as she kept her eyes fixed on the table, her mind buzzing.

* * *

Zazzalil was thirteen when her parents passed away. A car accident was all it took. She waited in the hospital for hours, only for the doctor to come bearing bad news. A social worker had come, and before she could make sense of it all, she was sitting on an empty mattress in a foster home. It smelled like old sweat.

She had never been a big crier. Even when she broke her elbow falling off the monkey-bars at school, or when she tripped and grazed her knees on the concrete when playing tag. She would rarely look any less than happy, so why the waterworks?

Zazzalil wiped her tears and picked up the pen, a final effort to see if she really did have a soulmate. She had well and truly lost hope at this point. She gapes her words for another two minutes, then decides it’s pointless. 

An hour later, her hand tingles a little. She reaches to scratch it, absentmindedly reading the writing still on there. Zazzalil is so unfocused it takes nearly five minutes for it to register the little “I’m sorry” printed in tiny writing under her own message. When she does go to check, it’s gone.

* * *

Emotions ordinarily were Jemilla’s strong suit. This however, felt different. She feared saying the wrong thing, and worried about it the rest of the day. She wishes she could give better advice. She had been sitting at the dinner table, reading a book, when she observed the message she had been sent.

_“My dads died. I’m a ‘child of the system’ now”_

She can only think of one thing to say. After a few long minutes (hopefully enough for her soulmate to see), she gets rid of it, thinking about it for the remainder of the night. 

* * *

Growing up alone was like navigating a minefield. Every step Zazzalil took could have been her last. Every time she walked into school, every creaky door and unstable floorboard. Each time her feet hit the pavement as she ran away from whoever decided to chase her that day. 

Of course she wasn’t _fully_ alone, she also had Keeri. Keeri stuck by her no matter what. At fifteen, she was sure she didn’t have a soulmate, and sure that Keeri was the only one she could trust. Despite all of this, she was starting to feel normal again. 

She spent most of school causing chaos and messing around. She got good enough grades to get by, and excelled in science and maths with no effort. She was suspended a few times, no thanks to the mean girls of her grade ratting her out. 

Keeri was the one to push her to get into college. If it were up to her, she may not have gone at all. Maybe she was glad she did. It did feel good accomplishing something. Then she moved in.

* * *

Jemilla enjoyed highschool. She always had to be the best at her work, she joined every extracurricular she could. Track, band, debate, anything she could fit within her impossibly tight routine. But no matter how many things she did, they all seemed to have the same questions.

_“Do you have a soulmate?”_

_“Do you talk to your soulmate?”_

_“Why don’t you?”_

_“When will you meet them?”_

She always has the same answers.

_Yes._

_No._

_I just don’t._

_At some point._

She wished they could talk about something else.

When she got into the college of her dreams, Molag made her a cake and they had a little celebration. She graduated as valedictorian. She was in control of her life, the life she had mapped out. Until she moved into her dorm and met her roommate.

Their meeting was less than desirable. Jemilla had been setting up her side of the room when the woman had come loudly crashing in with her friend, walking all the dirt Jemilla had spent twenty minutes sweeping out. 

“Um, excuse me,” Jemilla coughed, grabbing their attention. The one on the left whipped around, her loose side-ponytail hitting her eye. The other woman, a blonde, seemed frozen to the spot, an awkward look drawn across her face. “Which one of you is Zazzalil?”

“That would be me.” Zazzalil stepped forward with a broad smile. Jemilla did a swift scan of her, noting any details. Her ripped mom jeans, the black hoodie she’s drowning in. Her knock-off skater shoes. This pretty woman oddly drew her in. Her eyes narrowed. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” She held her hand out to shake, but promptly dropped it when Zazzalil showed no interest in returning the gesture. “I’m sure we will be acquainted very quickly. I’m Jemilla if you didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I knew.” Zazzalil scoffed and turned back around. “Anyways…”

Jemilla raised her eyebrows. So that’s how she wanted to play. She smoothed out a crease on her pleated skirt and took a deep breath. She stayed silent, thinking: _two can play that game, Zazz._

She could stand the sly remarks, because she usually repaid her with something equally playful (or menacing, depended on the day). Really, all it took for Jemilla to step it up was one night to many of coming home late, clearly drunk and rowdy. She’d been a light sleeper all her life, but this was really tipping her over the edge. There were only so many times she could let it slide. That was only one thing.

“Zazzalil?” She asked one day, not allowing a single drop of venom into her words. “I think it’s time we set up some rules.”

“Rules?” She snorted. “What, is this some kind of prison?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Jemilla crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Even while being made fun of, she notices her laugh, ever so bubbly. _This woman is going to be the death of me._ “It’s clear we don’t… get along. So we need some rules to keep the peace.”

“Sure.” 

“Number one, stop being so noisy when you come in at three-am.” Jemilla suggested. Although it was more of a requisite rather than a suggestion. “Number two, start tidying up after yourself.”

“Number three, stop being up in my shit.” Zazzalil retorted, blowing a hair out of her face, looking rather proud of herself. “Seriously, you’re never awake when we get back, why do you care-”

“I am, actually. You just don’t realise, because you’re too intoxicated to notice. _Seriously_ ,” Jemilla repeated Zazzalil’s words. She huffed. “You need to stop with that.”

“And you need to pull the stick out of your ass.” Zazzalil said, her threatening tone took Jemilla by surprise. “Do you even have fun?”

“Of course I have fun. I just care about my studies.” Jemilla could feel the tension building in the room, and a headache started to form. What was she doing? She didn’t have to justify herself, especially not to Zazzalil.

“Whatever you say,” Her eyebrows shot through the roof and strolled away, leaving Jemilla angry and alone. 

This was a strange feeling for her, often so persuasive and knowing, is unsure whether or not Zazzalil will commit to those new rules. Jemilla hopes she does, and not purely for her own sake.

* * *

Zazzalil didn’t know what changed her views on Jemilla. Throughout the year, their friend group seemed to merge, much to her dismay. She had started joining them for the occasional parties, and they hung out all together more frequently. They were starting to tolerate each other’s company. 

She unintentionally observed her behaviour at this time. How full of almost overwhelming love, how big and beautiful her smile was. How whenever she looked at her, the smile faded, but her eyes didn't change. The same fondness, something else, something _negative_ mixed in. She knew this for certain, because the snippy comments never left. Hers never left either. Tiny arguments that could go either way. 

Using her deduction skills, she put it down to one moment.

Finals week, and the lead up. They were just freshmen, Zazzalil figured she could relax a little. Jemilla on the other hand, was driven up the wall with stress. She might have done a great job at covering it, however Zazzalil can be observant sometimes, she doesn’t want to be. And especially when they bunk together.

She never seemed to stop studying. She denied any plans offered. She was irritable, and it was rubbing off on everyone around her. It was awful to listen to as well. Zazzalil would lay on her bed, trying to do some light reading and Jemilla would be furiously clicking her pen, mumbling whatever self-degrading comment she’d chosen for the day. 

Ugh. So annoying. She didn’t plan on stopping it, she hoped it would go away on it’s own.

What truly changed her perspective was a specific moment. Zazzalil had returned from a class, and saw that Jemilla wasn’t there. Weird. She didn’t have anything on. She was about to forget her thought, when she heard her strangled sob coming from the bathroom. Ever so curious, she nudged the door open. Jemilla snapped up her head, hands flying to her red cheeks to wipe away her tears. 

“I, uh. I’m sorry.” Jemilla mumbles, pushing past Zazzalil, who realised she had never seen her cry. It was a sight to see, someone so strong and outwardly unbreakable.

A part of her wanted to go after her. The other half, the more powerful half told her she hated her, and running after her would do nothing. Even with her shifted view, the remarks never stopped flowing. 

* * *

Jemilla made it through one and half years without soulmate questions. She thought no-one cared anymore, she was thankful. Although, she was beginning to wonder if her soulmate realised they had one. They would draw all over themselves, it feels like every time she looks, there is something new. It’s infuriating to get off, and _so_ itchy. It’s not as bad as when they tried to do a stick-and-poke on their hip when they were sixteen. Jemilla still has to cover up what’s left upon occasion.

She almost hoped they knew, it dawned on her that they are getting to the age where people meet their soulmates. Perhaps she should muster up the courage and start writing. 

She sat out in the park, eating lunch with Emberly, Schwoopsie, Tiblyn, Ducker, SB, Chorn, Grunt, Keeri and Zazzalil. They gathered around a park bench, and shared the bits and bobs Emberly had bought along. They mostly chatted amongst themselves, SB, Chorn and Tiblyn were playing Frisby. It was nice. Calm.

Jemilla looked up from her conversation with Emberly and Schwoopsie, to spy Zazzalil absentmindedly drawing on her arm while Keeri rambled her ear off. Jemilla’s lips formed a tight line.

“Would you stop drawing on yourself? You’ll get ink poisoning!” She exclaimed, yanking the sharpie from her grasp, hastily pushing the lid back on.

“Jeez, it’s just my skin.” Zazzalil grimaced, snatching the marker back and shoving it into her pocket. “Besides, you can’t get ink poisoning from just drawing. You can from doing a stick-and-poke, and believe me those are much harder.”

Jemilla opted to ignore this statement. 

Later that day, she rolled up her long sleeves, only to see a half-finished flower pattern scrawled over her forearm. Huh. That’s right where Zazzalil was drawing. Her eyes widened, panic flooded her senses. This was probably a coincidence! Her soulmate could be anyone, and anyone could draw in that spot. Yes, a coincidence. That’s all that was. Zazzalil couldn’t be her soulmate! She didn’t know if Zazzalil had one. Besides, she had a soulmate, who she hadn’t met. Right?

* * *

Zazzalil paced around outside Keeri’s classroom anxiously. She’s been meaning to talk to her about moving into her dorm instead of staying in Jemilla’s, who clearly didn’t want her there. She also had to buy some groceries, and didn’t feel like doing that alone. Keeri santered out of the classroom eventually, Zazzalil waved to grab her attention.

“Hey Zazz,” Keeri’s eyes zoomed in on her hand, tilting her head. “You went to the library without me? I thought we were going thursday?”

“What? We still are, I haven’t been in months.” Zazzalil furrowed her brows.

“Then what’s on your hand?”

“What do you mean-” Zazzalil lifted her hand, to see in extremely neat writing, _“Return library books.”_ with a tiny check mark next to it. “I didn’t write that.”

“Are you sure?” Keeri gawked at the writing, more so than Zazzalil herself.

A revelation washes over her, submerging her into her thoughts. Her voice is merely a whisper, Keeri doesn’t hear her.

“I didn’t know I had a soulmate.”

* * *

Jemilla had recently discovered the joys of writing reminders on her hand. Yes, it still annoyed her, but it meant not having the hassle of pulling out a notebook every time she needs to tick something off. She couldn’t believe it took her so long to come around. It was mostly the small things, like library runs and shopping trips. She keeps it fairly tiny, in order to still appear professional (even though she is a college sophomore).

Nobody noticed.

* * *

“I didn’t know you wrote lists on yourself.” Keeri picked at the tears in her jeans while Zazzalil stormed side to side, her nails digging into her palm. They were by the tree in the courtyard, their favourite spot. 

“I don’t, I stopped because every time I would, it would rub off.” Zazzalil pauses out of the blue. “Or I thought I was rubbing it off. God, I’m such an idiot! I should’ve realised ink doesn’t rub off that easily.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I would think the same thing.” Keeri tried to reassure her, unavailing. “And you’re not an idiot, Zazz.”

“The thing is, I don’t think they want to talk to me. If they did, they would’ve tried to contact me by now. I need a plan.” Zazzalil’s face contorted, deep in thought. Then, an idea. “I know! I’ll get a weird tattoo! Without that soulmate-proof shit! That way they can’t ignore me anymore!”

“That’s a great idea! Let’s go now.” 

She ended up choosing this unusual sketch of a centaur holding a flame she did on her notes a few days prior, and got it done on her shoulder. She figured that would be all she needs for her soulmate to contact her. 

* * *

The next day was a Saturday, the day everyone met up. Although, everyone was there, except Jemilla. They were concerned, as she was consistently the first one there. They don’t dwell for long, soon digging into their lunch. About ten minutes later Jemilla showed up, darting across the park to their bench, hastily pulling her cardigan over her arms. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” She says, out of breath. “I spent all morning trying to cover up this thing…”

“A hickey?” Schwoopsie wiggled her eyebrows, Jemilla blushed, almost wishfully. Zazzalil didn’t notice her eyeline flicker to herself. 

“God, no,” Jemilla touched her shoulder, letting her hand hover. What a nightmare this was. “My… My dumbass soulmate decided to get the world's weirdest tattoo, without using soulmate-proof ink!”

Zazzalil felt her heart stop beating, her jaw shooting open. Jemilla. Jemilla Jemilla Jemilla. 

“Hey, Jmills, can you come with me to use the bathroom?” Zazzalil asked in a small voice, a contrast to her normally upbeat self. Jemilla tensed. She replied with a shrug, ready to jump into conversation about something else, anything else. “Please?” That face was hard to refuse.

“Okay.” Before Jemilla could think a coherent thought, she was being whisked away into the public bathroom, the door locked behind them. “Zazzalil!”

“Show me the tattoo.”

“Uh, why?” Jemilla tugged her hand out of Zazzalil’s firm grip, her heart raced. 

“Stop questioning, just show it.” Zazzalil demanded, then a quick switch in demeanour. “Humour me?”

Jemilla slowly took off her cardigan, holding it under her arm as she pulled up the short sleeve covering her skin. Zazzalil’s blood runs cold. Because on Jemilla’s shoulder, is the tattoo. Her tattoo. All of a sudden it was like she couldn’t breathe. Jemilla. The very same gorgeous woman that hates her, is her soulmate. It felt like a knife plunged through her heart. All the emotions, the questions she’d bottled up and ignored for the past ten years, are at the surface, ready to burst. 

“Zazz?” Jemilla said in a hushed tone. The bathroom was noiseless, the quiet rustling of trees coud be heard from outside. “What’s the matter?”

“We’re soulmates.” Was all she could say, lifting her own sleeve. Jemilla gawked at it, stumbling backwards.

“What?” Jemilla didn’t know what to feel. Happy that Zazzalil, of all people, was her soulmate. Upset that Zazzalil hated her.

Silence again. 

“Oh my god.” Zazzalil muttered, restlessly beginning to walk back and forth. Her fists balled, holding in waves of rage and hurt. She stared at Jemilla through a distorted lens of anger, who stayed still and completely stoic. In an effort to stay somewhat calm, she inhaled deeply. “Oh my god…”

“Are you okay?” Jemilla asks, regretting it after when just about charges towards her. 

“Am I okay? Goddamnit, Jemilla.” Zazzalil said through her teeth. “I didn’t even know I had a soulmate until literally yesterday, only to learn that they hate me! Do you know how shitty that feels?”

Jemilla flinched, guilt crawling through her like vines on a wall. They glue her to the floor, not that she wanted to move. “That’s why you got the tattoo,” She mumbled.

“No shit! God, and you only wrote once! I thought I made it up! Why? Why did you never write?” The anger faded into desperation and annoyance… and sadness. 

A moment passes, then Jemilla speaks up. “I hate having ink on my skin.”

“You what?” Zazzalil appeases, and that hope from when she was a kid sneaks into her heart, the irritation dissolving entirely. Whatever feelings towards Jemilla she’d been ignoring, grew too large to keep at bay for much longer. “That’s it? Why?”

“It’s itchy, and looks unprofessional.” Jemilla was on the verge of tears, both happy and not. Maybe everyone was right, she should’ve looked sooner, contacted sooner. 

“That’s…” Zazzalil laughs, much to Jemilla’s dismay. “That’s so _stupid_.”

“I was working up to sending a message.” She relaxed slightly, a weight lifted from her shoulders, off her mind. Her eyes meet Zazzalil’s, and for the first time, they don’t dart away. “And for what it’s worth, Zazz, I don’t hate you. I actually like you.”

“Me too.” She responds, not breaking the gaze, not yet. “I’m glad you’re my soulmate.”

“Same.” Jemilla couldn’t breathe, but not for the same reasons as the past. “We should probably get back to the others, or they’ll think we’re having sex in here.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Zazzalil flirts, taking Jemilla’s hand and gently hauls her in closer. “I mean, now that we know we’re soulmates…”

“As much as I would love to...” Jemilla couldn’t keep her eyes off Zazzalil’s lips, how soft they were. “I don’t think it’s very sanitary in here.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I will do this, though.” Jemilla slipped her hand onto her face, cupping her jaw, but it was Zazzalil who initiated.

Their lips crashed together, a lifetime of feelings poured into it. Zazzalil wrapped her arms around Jemilla’s waist, keeping her close. Jemilla’s arms rest on her shoulders, one tangled in Zazzalil’s curly hair. And for a little while, it was only them in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> whew this was my longest one-shot.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a comment, they are much appreciated.
> 
> thank you :D


End file.
